


Wrong, Very Wrong, Not Wrong at All

by spn1dneedit



Series: The Art of Being Us (and Messing it up) [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT7, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Suicide Attempt, blink and you miss it - Freeform, eddie!centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 08:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spn1dneedit/pseuds/spn1dneedit
Summary: Sure, all seven of them survived their second encounter with Pennywise, but now that they're home everything is wrong. Eddie tries his best to help the rest of his partners, but what the fuck does he do when nothing he says is right, and everything he doesn't is worse?





	Wrong, Very Wrong, Not Wrong at All

**Author's Note:**

> haha, at last! the long awaited sequel to Tell the Sun to Stop Burning, which I HIGHLY recommend you read first bc some things in this will make u go 'huh' if u don't. also, I rewrote this whole thing 3 times so i hope you enjoy!

2016 (39)

The first thing Eddie notices when he wakes up is how fucking bright the fluorescents are. Like, shit. He hasn’t opened his eyes in who knows how long, and the first thing he sees is the burning white light bulb hanging above him.

The second thing Eddie notices is that his abdomen hurts like a fucking bitch. He must be on some kind of pain medication. He doesn’t know what they’ve got him on, but he knows for sure they don’t have him on enough of it. He’d gotten speared in the freaking stomach, the least they could do was give him enough drugs to keep him from feeling it.

The third thing Eddie notices is that his hospital room isn’t big enough to hold seven grown adults.

The fourth thing Eddie notices is that the Losers definitely do not give a shit.

Bill and Mike sit in a pair of chairs next to the one window, leaning their heads on each other’s shoulders. Bev lays on the ground over a mess of everyone’s jackets and sweaters, tucked in on herself in such a way that Eddie can already hear her complaining about her back pain when she wakes up. Richie and Ben sit on the floor against the wall across from Eddie’s hospital bed, leaning into each other the same way Mike and Bill are. And Stan…

Stan isn’t there.

Eddie tries to sit up, but the pain hits hard, and his vision whites out.

“Fuck,” He gasps, the wound in his chest pulses in time with his heart. Holy fucking shit, he’s never felt pain like it. Trying to get a hold on his breathing, Eddie closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment. He needs more of the meds. Now.

Once he’s caught his breath, and made sure every one is still sleeping, Eddie looks around for some kind of call button. He needs a nurse, and he needs more meds.

A nurse walks in less than a minute after he finds it. She’s a big woman, with a sloppy brown ponytail and scrubs that are dirty at the bottom because they’re too long for her and drag on the ground. Eddie has to push back thoughts of requesting a nurse that’s a bit cleaner. He knows it’s dumb, but he doesn’t hear a word she says after she walks into the room; he’s too busy wondering if her hands are clean. Her pants are dirty, and she can’t be bothered to fix her hair, so what if she can’t be bothered to wash her hands? If her hands aren’t clean and she’s the one that changes his bandages, he could get an infection. And if he gets an infection, he could die. And if he dies, then he’s gotten stabbed in the face and speared in the stomach for nothing.

“Mr. Kaspbrack?” The nurse looks at him funny, and Eddie is sure she’s just asked him a question. Fuck. He should’ve listened.

“Sorry, uh, what did you say?”

Thankfully, the nurse doesn’t look offended he’d been zoning out.

“I said I’m glad you’re awake and I asked what you needed.”

“Oh, Um… I’m in a lot of pain, and I was wondering if I could get more medication.” They’re both already whispering, conscientious of the people sleeping, but Eddie’s voice lowers further. He shouldn’t be sheepish about asking for medication, but something about the nurse reminds him of his mother. And he was always embarrassed by anything about her.

The nurse nods and smiles. It makes Eddie feel bad for almost freaking out, “I’ll have someone come in here and adjust your drip ASAP, and someone else to change your bandages. How does that sound?”

“Great.” It sounds fucking incredible, really. Eddie feels… Well he feels like he got speared in the freaking gut.

“Alright then, anything else I can get for you?”

Eddie is about to whisper that, no, he’s alright, when he remembers.

“Has there been anyone else here? Like, uh, besides the five of them?” He asks. Where the hell is Stan? Is he back home? Still in the hospital? Is he here?

The nurse takes a look around the room, then a peculiar look flashes across her face. Eddie’s heart stops.

“There’s always been six of them, actually. One of them isn’t here, can’t figure out which one, though.”

Eddie’s heart starts beating again.

Stan is here. In the hospital. In Derry. With them. With him.

“His name is Stan, curly brown hair, five ten-ish, definitely looks like a guy who enjoys puzzles too much.” The nurse nods in recognition, smiling.

“You want me to send him back in if I see him?”

Eddie nods slowly, way too conscious of his wound now, “Please.”

Once she leaves, Eddie has a second to breathe. Everything is good. Sure, he’s pretty sure he almost died not too long ago, but he didn’t. And Stan is with them. Stan is back, and Eddie is alive, and even if that was the worst shit they’d ever been through. They went through it together. And now it’s over. Forever.

Someone walks in the door and Eddie doesn’t even think of the pain when he snaps his neck toward the noise. Sure enough, there he is.

Stan stands in the doorway like he’d been caught sneaking in.

“Eddie. I didn’t think you were awake yet.” He’s so quiet that Eddie has to strain to hear him. Each word sounds painful, like Stan struggles to push them through. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, and the smile on his face must be manic, he’s so happy to see Stan, because Stan smiles softly back at him with a weird look in his eye, then comes to sit at the foot of Eddie’s bed. Eddie sees when he sits down, just how bad Stan looks.

His cheeks are gaunt. His eyes deeply sunken into purple sockets. His lips are cracked and dry. The bandages on his wrists are gone, and the angry red scars are surrounded by fresh scabs, some sores still open even. Stan looks like he’s seen hell. And barely survived crawling his way back.

“You doin’ alright, Stan?” Eddie flexes his toes to brush Stan’s thigh, ignoring the pain it causes him.

Stan laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Eddie flinches. Not from the pain.

“I’m not the one who almost got killed yesterday. I should be asking you that.”

“They’re bringing me pain meds as we speak, and I’ll feel better after that. Can’t say the same for you, man.” When Stan looks back up at him, he’s got tears in his eyes. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but for the life of him, Eddie can’t come up with anything better.

Just as he opens Stan opens his mouth to respond, the nurses come in to administer Eddie’s medication and change his bandages. Stan gets off of Eddie’s bed and stands in the corner of the room as they get to work. It doesn’t escape Eddie that Stan puts the most possible distance between the two of them. It hurts.

He wishes Stan was right next to him. He’s too sheepish to say it in front of strangers, but Eddie’s been away from Stan for so long, he can barely stand to be far away from him for even a minute longer. The last time he’d seen Stan, it had been in the hospital before they’d left for Derry. He’d hugged Stan for a long moment that still didn’t seem long enough. Looking at Stan, so far away, Eddie is sure it wasn’t.

When the nurses peel back the sheets and start to redress his wound, Eddie searches out Stan’s eyes for support. Stan can stand as far away as he needs, but Eddie needs to see him, needs to feel supported by him. Instead, Stan’s eyes are glued to the ground, and Eddie’s pretty sure he sees him wipe at a tear on his cheek.

Stan doesn’t come back to sit next to Eddie on the bed, even after the nurses leave. The two of them sit in uncomfortable silence for so long it starts to suffocate Eddie. There’s physical pain his chest, sure, but it’s nowhere near as bad.

“Can you stop standing in the corner like a freaking weirdo and come back over here?” He finally blurts out, and Stan’s head snaps up in surprise. “Yeah, you.” Eddie smiles and pats the small amount of room next to him on the bed. It isn’t enough space for Stan, but the meds from the IV are starting to kick in, and Eddie feels his ability to think straight fading away.

Stan shakes his head, but does move and sits at the foot of the bed again. When he smiles at Eddie, right before he falls asleep, Eddie almost believes it’s real.

When he wakes up, Stan is gone again. Everyone else is awake. They’re all sitting around his bed, and by the looks of it, he’s messed up a pretty intense game of Uno by waking up.

“Christ, Eds, you just have to go and wake up and ruin the first game I might have a shot at winning?” Richie grins as he rolls his eyes. He’s sitting right next to Eddie’s left foot, and if Eddie wasn’t sure it’d cause himself excruciating pain, he’d kick him in the face.

“You weren’t even close to a win.” Mike, who’s sitting on Richie’s right near Eddie’s thigh, knocks his shoulder into Richie’s. “It was my turn next and, no spoilers on my hand, but I have a feeling you were about to be picking up four cards.”

“Not if I hit you with a skip. It is still my turn, after all.” Bev says from Eddie’s right. She holds her cards like a fan in front of her face. He can all tell she’s lying. They all can. She always plays her hand too confidentially when she actually has nothing. It’s endearing. It always has been, especially way back when they used to play poker in the clubhouse, and they all knew when Bev was bluffing because she was going on and on about how their cards couldn’t possibly beat hers.

“Please Bev, you w-w-w-were reaching to draw a card when Eddie woke up. You d-don’t have anything.” Eddie can’t help but bark out a laugh. No one ever calls Bev out for her shitty bluffs.

Bev raises an eyebrow at him, “Just because you’re in a hospital bed doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass.” Eddie laughs again, then winces at the pain in his abdomen and raises his hands innocently.

“Don’t look at me, Ben is the one really laughing at you.” Truthfully, Ben hadn’t even so much as huffed, but when Bev turns to him in a mock rage, he’s got a small smile on his face that turns into all out laughter when she smacks him in the chest with the hand that holds her cards.

“See Bev, you just flashed me all of your cards and I can say it now with certainty. You don’t have anything.” All six of them break down into laughter. It’s not that funny, but there’s something so nice about being together after everything they went through, and being able to smile and laugh and play a dumb game of Uno where they can pretend everything is fine.

That’s the thing. They’re pretending. It’s not real. There’s six of them laughing together, but the sound is hollow because there isn’t a seventh.

“Hey,” Eddie says once they’ve calmed down a bit, “where’d Stan go?”

The last bits of laughter die out quickly after that. The weight on everyone’s shoulders that had been gone only a few moments before is back again. Six pairs of eyes avoid his, and Eddie knows something is wrong.

“He’s been disappearing a lot lately.” Mike says, his eyes downcast.

“What does that mean?” Eddie’s been the hospital for what, two days? How could Stan manage to be gone ‘a lot’ in that time?

“It means,” Ben starts with a frown, “Stan showed up in the sewers maybe a minute after… after what happened to you, and I think he feels really guilty about it, but he won’t talk to us. I don’t think he’s said more than ten words total to anyone since we got here. He’s never in the room, and even when he is…”

“He isn’t.” Bev picks up where Ben trails off. It’s something they’ve always done, finishing each other’s sentences. In the back of his head, Eddie notices, in all of the ways everyone is acting different, there are some things that never change.

“It’s like he’s a ghost.” Mike adds, still avoiding Eddie’s eyes in favor of looking down at the cards in his hands, the game long forgotten now.

“A ghost who pretends he doesn’t hear me when I ask him to bring me back some skittles when he’s done haunting the halls.” Richie’s voice is hollow, no humor behind the joke. Maybe, Eddie thinks, Stan isn’t the only one who’s a ghost of themselves.

Over the next few days, Eddie sees just how true that thought is. They all put on a good face for him, even Stan tries his best when he finally drifts back into the room longer after everyone else has fallen asleep, but Eddie can tell something is off. He isn’t the most perceptive of all of them, shit, he’d probably take the crown as least observant without a fight, but even he can tell something is wrong. Very wrong. Not like when the ten year anniversary of Georgie’s death came around, or when Eddie’s mom died, and things were weird for a while. This is different. Their whole world is off its axis.

Things don’t get better once Eddie’s released from the hospital. Not at all. He’s discharged with pain meds, a wheelchair, and pain in his chest that has nothing to do with his injury.

“Make sure he sleeps sitting up with pillows under his hips and behind his back for at least a couple of weeks,” Eddie’s doctor keeps looking around the room, speaking to all of them because he’s not sure which one he should be speaking to. Eddie bites back a chuckle, if only the doc knew.

Then, he narrows his eyes and makes another sweep, “He should probably be sleeping alone for a while too. We don’t want someone moving and accidentally hitting him in the chest or moving him around too much.” Alright, maybe the doc knows more than Eddie thought.

“Got it.” They all say. Eddie feels his fingers twitch against his leg. It’s been almost twenty years since he’s slept without at least one of them in bed with for more than a few days at a time, and now he’ll be going weeks. He feels the anxiety that used to course through his veins start to prickle at his heart. This will be hell.

The first few nights Eddie sleeps alone pass without much trouble. Everyone besides Eddie goes back to their daily routine. Stan, Mike, and Ben leave early in the mornings to go to work. Mike and Ben come into Eddie’s room before they go. They bring him breakfast, good morning kisses, and any pain meds he needs. Stan sometimes passes by his door and mumbles good morning, mostly he just stops to stare at Eddie with the most pained eyes Eddie’s ever seen and walks away. Eddie wants to say something, but when he’s looking into those heavy brown eyes, words escape him.

Bill, Bev and Richie work mostly from home, so Eddie sees a bit more of them. Bill takes calls from his agent and publicist in his office, but when he finally gets a moment to write, he’ll come into Eddie’s room and sit next to him on the bed. Bill writes. Eddie emails his assistant to make sure the office isn’t burning down while he’s gone. They’re silent. It doesn’t feel right. But sitting next to Bill, nothing could ever feel really wrong. There is a niggling in the back of Eddie’s head, though.

Bev comes to Eddie for feedback on designs she’s working on. Usually, she’d bring them to Stan, but Eddie is available, and Stan has been anything but, lately.

“What do you think?” She asks, holding out her iPad in front of him. Eddie tries his best to say something intelligent about the cuts and patterns of things she shows him, but he knows by the look on her face, it isn’t what she’d hoped for.

“Thanks Hon,” she says as she turns it off, “you hungry? I can make lunch.” Sometimes Eddie is. Mostly he isn’t.

Richie was supposed to do a string of shows the week everything happened. But with Stan in the hospital, and then having to go to Derry, he’d had to cancel them all. His agent has them rebooked for a couple of weeks away, but Richie’s suddenly lost all confidence he had in those jokes and insists on writing new ones. He sits in Eddie’s room for hours on end, telling jokes and scratching out the ones that don’t leave Eddie in tears from the pain in his sides. Richie brings Eddie lunch if Bev hasn’t already. He comes in with a plate in one hand, and a bottle of Jack in the other.

“Brain fuel.” He says with a wide grin and a chuckle. Eddie would laugh too, if it wasn’t happening every day. He bites his tongue as Richie tips the bottle to his lips, and swallows concerned words as Richie takes deep swigs.

At night, they all come in and say goodnight to him.

Bill tucks Eddie in and kisses him lightly on the corner of his lips.

“I’m not a kid, Bill. I don’t need tucking in.” Eddie reminds him, night after night. Bill always pulls away with a watery smile and nods. He never leaves before he gets one last kiss.

Bev always grabs his face between her warm hands and looks him square in the eyes as she whispers, “I love you.” She doesn’t let go until he says it back. She’s never waiting long. She kisses his forehead. Both of his cheeks. Pecks his nose. She waits for him to tip his head up and kiss her on the mouth. In twenty seven years, that hasn’t changed. Bev takes the lead, but leaves it up to him to seal the deal.

Ben fluffs Eddie’s pillows every night. He comes in, sits next to Eddie and tells him about his day for a minute, then right before he leaves, he cups the back of Eddie’s neck and pulls him in close with one hand. The first time he did it, Eddie let his eyes fall closed, expecting a kiss, but opened them again when he felt Ben’s other hand behind him, fluffing his pillows. When he’s done, he let’s go of the pillow, but not of Eddie. He leans in for the kiss Eddie was waiting for.

“Love you.” They whisper to each other at the same time. Ben leaves Eddie with a smile.

“I’m sorry.” Mike says. Every night.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Eddie says back. Every night. He means it. Mike doesn’t believe it.

Mike shakes his head. Eddie raises an eyebrow and shakes his back.

Mike kisses Eddie just as a grin reaches both of their lips. They smile into each other. Eddie loves Mike’s smile, but it seems a little dim lately.

When Richie comes in, Eddie pretends he doesn’t see the way he stumbles just a bit. He looks away from Richie’s sleepy eyes. He tries not to gag when Richie’s alcohol soaked tongue pushes past his lips. Kissing Richie has never been anything but perfect to Eddie, until now.

Stanley comes in each night to clean and replace Eddie’s bandages. He’s the only one who can look at the wound without being sick. Eddie tries to talk to him. Stan nods along like he’s listening, but never talks back. Eddie leans in for a kiss. Every night. Stan pulls back.

Every goddamn night. For almost three fucking weeks.

Nineteen days after he’d gotten out of the hospital, Eddie wakes up to footsteps outside of his door and then the sound of the door at the end of the hallway opening and closing. His first thought is Stan.

A little less than a month ago, Stan had gotten out of bed while they were all sleeping and tried to leave them. Now, he was getting out of bed, again while they were all sleeping, and going to the attic, one of the least used spaces in the house, to do it again.

Eddie’s been walking small amounts on his own again for about a week, but his whole body is in agony as he takes the first steps toward his door. He powers through it because he has to.

Between the choice to sit back down and save himself from the pain and to keep going through the hurt to save Stan from doing something stupid again, there isn’t one.

The pain is everywhere: from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. On fire. Pulsing to his heartbeat, which is getting faster and faster. It thunders beneath his ribcage and in his stomach. God, he’s got to make it to Stan on time, but every step is in slow motion. His chest heaves, it feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself.

Eddie wants to stop. He wants to give up and get back in bed. But he can’t because of the memories. The memory of the six hours he’d spent on his knees scrubbing blood out of the tub. The memory of the smell of bleach burning in his nostrils. The memory of how raw and dry his hands were. The memory of Stan, bleeding out as he could do nothing but watch and cry. Eddie so badly wants to give up, but every memory gives him the strength to take one more step.

When he finally makes it down the hallway and grabs the knob of the door leading to the attic, his hand is too sweaty to get a good grip. It takes three tries before he finally gets it. Beyond the door, is the stairs.

Again, Eddie makes a choice that isn’t one, and puts his right foot on the first stair. His left one on the second. He grips the railing, but his fingers threaten to slip. His right on the third. His heart is beating so fast. He’s in so much pain. Left on the fourth. Black spots float in front of his eyes. Eddie closes them and thinks of Stan. Right again. Left again. Right. Left. Right. Left.

Eddie lifts his right foot for another stair and when there’s nothing he opens his eyes.

Stan isn’t in the attic.

“Bill?” Eddie’s voice is hardly a whisper, but his panting is thunderous, and Bill’s head snaps up.

“E-E-E-Eddie? W-w-w-w-w-why are you up here?”

‘Could ask you the same thing’ is what Eddie means to say, but before he can say anything his wobbly legs give out from under him and the only thing he can say is, “Shit!”

To his credit, for being walked in on and surprised, Bill has amazing reaction time. Before Eddie hits the ground, he’s up from his sitting position and reaching out to hold Eddie up.

“I g-g-g-gotcha.” He says as Eddie shrieks, then whines from the pain that radiates all over his fucking body.

He lets Eddie calm down for a few minutes, just holds him and wipes the sweat accumulating at his brow before he pulls back and looks at Eddie quizzically, “So… W-w-w-w-what were you actually doing up here?”

“Following you, idiot. I thought you were Stan, so I got up to check on him. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t…” Trying to kill himself again? Eddie’s brain supplies. Doing something stupid? Leaving us for real this time? None of those things are wrong, but they sure as hell aren’t right.

Bill nods. Eddie didn’t need to finish. He gets it.

“The real question, Bill, is what the hell are you doing up here in the middle of the night?”

The hand that had been running soothingly up and down Eddie’s back stops. Eddie tries to meet Bill’s eyes, but he’s staring at something behind Eddie’s back. Before he can stop himself, or think of the pain he’s going to be in, Eddie turns.

“Oh.” That’s what he’d been doing. There’s a photo album open. And at least ten pictures scattered on the ground. Georgie is in every one of them.

“I d-d-d-d-d-dreamt about him tonight.” Bill says when Eddie doesn’t say anything else.

“I’ve dreamt about him every night since we got b-b-back. Sometimes, looking at these helps me feel better.” Still, Eddie doesn’t say anything. Instead, he scoots his whole body so he’s facing the pictures on the ground. He picks up the one he has to reach the least for.

It’s of Bill and Stan, standing side by side in front of Bill’s house. Their smiles wide and real. Georgie is playing in the background. He’s smiling too. It must’ve been the summer or the school year before Georgie went missing, Eddie thinks. Georgie is wearing the same shirt he was in the missing posters that hung all around Derry.

“W-w-w-when I came up to check on Stan that night, he w-was looking at that one.”

“It’s a good one. Of all of you.”

Bill doesn’t say anything in response. Eddie doesn’t know what else to say to fill the gaping silence. They sit like that for a while, looking at all of the pictures. Eddie leans on Bill’s shoulder to get comfortable. Bill wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist and pulls him in close.

Just as Eddie closes his eyes, lids too heavy to stay open anymore, Bill clears his throat.

“Th-th-th-this was taken on the first day of school. G-g-g-georgie cried because he wanted to come too. I told him he would get to go next year b-b-b-but…” Bill points to one of the photos in the album, and even as tired as he is, Eddie lifts his eyes to look. Sure enough, Bill is smiling in the picture, with his backpack on and a protective arm around Georgie. Georgie’s smile is feebler and there are still tears in his eyes. He’s holding onto Bill like he doesn’t ever want to let him go.

Another thing that hasn’t changed. Everyone still hugs Bill like he’s their lifeline.

“You were a really great big brother.” Eddie lifts his head to look at Bill, but he’s still staring at the picture. He shakes his head.

It baffles Eddie, that all these years later, Bill still doesn’t think he was good enough. He thinks he could’ve done more for Georgie, or that he could’ve prevented what happened.

“The best.” He pushes, then presses a firm kiss to Bill’s shoulder.

“In th-th-th-th-th-th-fucking _this_ one, we were on vacation. My mom told me to help G-g-georgie make a sandcastle. I didn’t w-w-w-want to.” Bill sounds so guilty. His voice cracks multiple times and his stutter, the stutter that had been gone for over ten years before all of this, sounds like it’s hurting him.

In this picture, Georgie sits proudly in front of a pretty freaking magnificent sandcastle. One that he definitely could not have done himself. He’s beaming so hard his eyes are closed. It makes Eddie smile too.

“But you still did.” Eddie pulls back a little from Bill’s tight hug, “I mean, c’mon Bill. Georgie was a happy kid, he would’ve been happy with a lump of sand you shaped into a slightly bigger lump of sand, but you made him a full castle. Look at how hard he’s smiling.” Bill shakes his head again and puts the picture down. Eddie sighs and rubs his nose up and down the shoulder seam of Bill’s shirt, then presses another kiss there.

Bill picks up photo after photo until he’s told Eddie about what was happening in all of them. Most of them, Eddie’s heard the story about before, but he still listens like it’s the first time. Bill breaks down a few times to cry, and when that happens Eddie kisses his shoulder, and tells him how good of a brother he was. How lucky Georgie was to have him. How much he loves him.

“It doesn’t matter that I w-w-was a good brother before. I w-w-w-w-wasn’t there when he needed me. An-and now he’d dead, and so is that other kid.” Eddie doesn’t have a response to that. Who the hell would? What can you say to someone who’s been blaming themselves for their brother’s death for twenty-seven years? What’s the right thing to do when the love of your life breaks down in tears over two deaths he couldn’t have prevented, but has still found a way to blame himself for?

There is no right thing to do. And honestly, that’s what’s Eddie hates most about every fucking thing that’s happened in the last few weeks. There’s never something that’s obviously the right thing to do. Only the least wrong thing. And when you do the least wrong thing, it doesn’t feel good. It still feels like shit. 

“It’s not your fault.” Eddie says, because it feels like the least wrong thing.

Bill just shakes his head again.

Eddie is so fucking tired of Bill shaking his head. Tired of Bill blaming himself. Tired of Bill sitting silently at the foot of his bed while he writes. Tired of everybody acting like freaking alien versions of themselves. Tired of so many fucking things Eddie can’t even think straight. And like, actually really tired because it’s the middle of the freaking night and Bill woke him up and he hasn’t been sleeping well because of the pain. So Eddie doesn’t really have any excuse for snapping at Bill, except that he’s _tired_.

“Bill. I’m serious. It isn’t your fault. It never was. It never has been. It never will be. Your brother got eaten by a murderous clown because of nothing but chance and the fact that that guy was a massive prick. That other kid is the same freaking deal. You can moan and groan and reach for a whole bunch of reasons for why it’s your fault, but it’s not. You did everything you could and more to save that kid; and you went out looking for answers about Georgie, like, freaking months after everyone else had moved on to the next missing kid. It’s not your fault that they died, Bill, but it is because of you that the thing that killed them is dead. You brought all of us together, Bill. You led the Losers.” By the time he finishes Eddie’s voice has changed from manic and a little annoyed to proud. He’s crying a bit, and when he looks up to meet Bill’s eyes after his rant, the other man is too.

Bill looks at Eddie with tear filled eyes, and for a second Eddie thinks he’s going to have a full breakdown and that’ll definitely be all his fault, but Bill just smiles and pulls Eddie tightly into him. Eddie holds on like a lifeline.

“Thanks, Eddie.” He says into Eddie’s hair. Eddie doesn’t say anything back. Not because he can’t think of the right thing to say, but because, he thinks, he’s already said it.

After that, Bill gets better. He talks to Eddie now as he’s writing. His smiles seem more real and his laughs more full. The light returns to his eyes. Things aren’t completely back to normal, but it’s the start Eddie thinks he needs. He wishes the same would go for everyone else.

Stan is still taking his vow of silence, as Richie calls it, very seriously. Ben puts on a good, comforting face that Eddie wants to believe so bad it hurts. Mike can barely look at Eddie in bed without looking like he wants to cry. Richie hasn’t slowed down a bit with the alcohol. And Bev, well, Bev truthfully seems the most normal out of them all, but a bit different. She’s Bev, but her skin is on a little too tight.

Eddie only notices because he lived the first twenty years of his life like that. So close to clawing out of his own skin the only thing he could do to stop it was bounce around instead.

A few days after that night with Bill, Bev begins to claw at herself. Not literally, of course, but when she comes in to show Eddie designs, she won’t sit on his bed. Her fingers twitch around the iPad. She makes a face when he says a red dress should be deeper in color, “More of a blood red” he offers, and she grimaces. When she leaves, she walks so stiffly Eddie almost wants to laugh. He can’t because everything is so off.

Later in the afternoon Eddie gets up to pee. He’d waited all day because getting out of bed still hurts like a bitch, but he doesn’t want any help going to the bathroom because… Well because it’s embarrassing needing help to pee, and now that he can walk on his own, even if it hurts like hell, he’s going to pee on his own.

He hears a sob through the door as soon as he puts a hand on the knob. It’s obviously Bev, no one else’s sobs sound like a woman’s, except maybe Eddie’s own when he’s totally fucked out and begging for just a little more. But since that’s obviously not the case, there’s only one explanation. Bev is crying in the bathroom.

Eddie knocks once, “Bev?” No response.

“Beverly?” He calls again. Nothing. The last time Bev was crying in the bathroom probably ranks top three in worst days of Eddie’s life, so Eddie decides to put boundaries aside for a minute, and pushes the bathroom door open.

“Hey, are you alright?” Beverly stands in the middle of the bathroom. Her eyes dart between the toilet and the sink like they’ve both come alive or something. She doesn’t even look at Eddie until he’s right in front of her.

She wipes at her face when she sees him looking at the tears, and plasters on the fakest smile Eddie’s ever seen, “I’m good.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve kind of been having a bathroom thing lately.” She admits, and in any other situation and Eddie would have to laugh at that sentence. C’mon, she’s having a ‘bathroom thing’, peak hilarity. Eddie just nods, because laughing is definitely the most wrong thing to do.

“I mean,” she wipes at her face again, even though all the tears are gone, “It’s stupid. Just that, bathrooms lately have been reminding me of blood and… and I’ve been fine up until now, but I just got my period now I’m freaking out just being in here.” Eddie has no problem seeing why bathrooms freak Bev out now. Shit, the first encounter she had with Pennywise was him coating her entire bathroom in blood. Then her finding Stan that night. And after all of that, she’s almost drowned by blood in a bathroom. If Eddie had gone through that, he knows he’d be saying fuck no to bathrooms too.

He just has no clue what to do to help Bev with it.

“Anything I can do?” He asks. She laughs. Well, half sobs, half laughs.

“Unless you can make absolute sure blood isn’t going to start spraying from the sink, bath, or toilet while I’m changing my tampon, I think this is something I gotta get through alone, babe.” She says it like it’s a joke, but a stupid idea pops into Eddie’s head faster than he can decide not to say it.

“What if I stayed with you?”

“What like, you watch me while I pee?” She’s really smiling at him now, and Eddie blushes.

“No! Well, I don’t know, kind of. I could stay in here while you go, so that, if something does happen, this time you won’t be alone.” It’s stupid. So dumb. The dumbest thing ever. Eddie can’t believe he said such a dumb idea out loud. No, he can, he just wasn’t expecting to-

“Okay.” Bev interrupts Eddie’s increasingly negative inner monologue.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. If it’s okay with you. I’d feel better if you were here.”

And then it’s a thing. For the next week, Bev comes into Eddie’s room when she needs to go. It isn’t weird. Except that it totally is. But it feels good knowing that Bev feels safe with him around. And getting out of bed hurts less when Eddie starts doing it more regularly, so that’s a plus.

But the main benefit of this new bathroom routine that they have, is that Beverly feels better.

Her skin isn’t on too tight anymore. She jokes with Eddie and instead of shutting down when he doesn’t give her the right answers to her design questions, asks more specific ones or asks about what she was really getting at. She smiles. Real smiles. Genuine smiles that light up the room like Eddie is used to.

After her period ends, and the majority of Bev’s anxiety toward the bathroom fades away, she doesn’t come into his room to go to the bathroom with her. Instead, she grabs him and they walk around the house together. When the pain gets bad, he leans on her. Not only physically. Eddie and Bev were never really the closest, but this is something that they have together now. Something that’s only theirs.

Like Bill, things aren’t perfect for Bev, but they’re getting better. The two of them are, at least.

The week after, Eddie is alone at home for the first time. Mike, Stan, and Ben go to work as usual. Bev has to go sort things out with distributors, since her company is coming up on a big launch. Richie insists he can’t rehearse his whole set and blocking at home, so he’s gone. Even Bill has to go to set on the movie one of his books is being turned into, something about rewriting an ending last minute.

He was going to be alone all day for the whole week, so when Eddie hears the front door slam shut in the middle of the day, Eddie doesn’t know whether to be excited that at least one of them is home, or concerned because why the fuck would anyone be home at two p.m.?

“Richie?” He says first, because maybe he’s done rehearsing for the day.

“Bill?” Because maybe they’d wrapped early for the day.

“Stan?” Wishful thinking.

No one answers, and Eddie can definitely hear someone rifling through shit downstairs. His feelings wobble more toward the ‘scared’ side of things now. What if their house is getting broken into? He can’t fight anyone off right now. He can barely walk, how the hell is he going to run away? Just his freaking luck their house gets broken into while he’s on bed rest.

Whoever it is in the house comes bounding up the steps and Eddie is half a second away from either feinting or screaming or both when a figure that is without a doubt Ben passes by his door in a sprint. He throws open the bathroom door and Eddie can hear him tearing through the cupboards.

“What the hell?” He gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom. The pain is almost gone when he walks now. “Ben, what are you doing? And why are you home in the middle of the day? Not that I’m not glad to see you, I am. But you never leave work earlier than seven so that you can take calls from Shanghai where they’re twelve hours ahead, but it’s only two, and you’re home and—” Oh. Eddie’s rambling cuts off because Ben is definitely not okay. Ben is not doing well. Ben is freaking the fuck out and Ben never freaks the fuck out so now Eddie is freaking the fuck out, but Ben hasn’t even noticed him because he’s too busy freaking the fuck out.

“I can’t breathe.” Ben wheezes, shaking hands digging through yet another drawer.

“Ben, what are you looking for?”

“I can’t breathe!” Eddie feels his own chest tightening. What’s wrong with Ben? What’s happening?

“Ben. Slow down, man. What’s going on?”

“I can’t breathe. I need your inhaler. Do you have an inhaler here? I need it. I can’t breathe. I can’t. There’s dirt. There’s…. There’s dirt in my lungs and I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Eddie, where’s your inhaler? I can’t breathe.”

“I don’t have an inhaler. I haven’t used one in a couple of years, Ben. Just the one I got when we were back in Derry.” Ben’s hands drop from the drawer he’d been looking in and one falls to the ground while the other presses against Ben’s chest. Ben’s face is red, and his eyes are screwed up, but there’s no dirt anywhere on him. If there’s dirt in his lungs there would be dirt on his shirt or on his body, but Eddie looks up and down at Ben’s pristine suit and sees nothing. That’s when it hits him.

Ben’s not really choking on dirt. He’s having a panic attack. Part of Eddie relaxes, another gets more tense. On one hand, he and Stan used to help each other with panic attacks all the time. Stan’s OCD triggers sometimes set him into a fit, and when Eddie used to feel one symptom of sickness it was basically game over. So Eddie know how to deal with a panic attack. He’s just never had to help anyone but Stan or himself.

“Ben,” He tries, he kneels next to Ben and puts his hand on top of Ben’s that’s already on his chest, “Ben you have to listen to me. You’re okay. You’re safe. There’s no dirt in your lungs. You’re alright.” It’s not helping. Ben’s breathing doesn’t slow. He doesn’t open his eyes. Eddie feels so helpless.

“I-I-I’ve got you, Ben. It’s Eddie. You’re here, with me, in our house, and you’re okay.” Ben’s eyes flutter open, but he quickly shuts them again.

“Eddie, I can’t breathe.”

“Yes you can. I know it feels like you can’t. It feels like you’re going to die, and I get that. I’ve been through that. But it’s okay. You’re okay. Open your eyes.” Ben meets his eyes, Eddie sighs and smiles. A step in the right direction. What else helped him and Stan? He has to think fast. Ben is still working himself up.

“Ben look at me. You’re okay. You’re having a panic attack. It’ll pass. You’ll be okay. You just have to try and breathe.” Shit. He’s so fucking bad at this.

“I can’t, Eddie. I can’t breathe.”

“Yes you can,” Eddie grips the hand on Ben’s chest and wrenches it away. “Just hold my hand. I’m right here. Hold my hand and breathe.”

Ben takes a shaky breath in. Eddie could cry.

“Okay, breathe out. Then take another in.” It takes a while, but Ben eventually calms down. He and Eddie sit together in the bathroom for at least an hour before he can talk again, but at least he’s not still having the attack.

“Is that the first time you had one of those?” Eddie asks. It was a bad one, and it would make Eddie sick to know that Ben has been having these all the time, and this is just the first time he’s noticed.

“I’ve had a couple of smaller ones, but never like this. It really felt like I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe at all.”

“Do you know what set it off? I used to get them when we were kids, but it was always triggered by something.”

“When we were back in Derry, part of what Pennywise did to me was drown me in dirt.” Eddie remembers. In the hospital, they’d all talked about what happened in the sewers. All of them but Stan, who’d left the room the second the topic was brought up. “And now I’m kind of claustrophobic. Usually nothing too bad, but today I was taking the elevator down for a meeting and it was super crowded. One of the women starts making small talk about a news article she read. Apparently, a guy who got buried alive as a prank died from suffocation. She was just talking about a stupid article, but one minute I was mildly uncomfortable, and the next I felt like I was dying. I think I got an uber home, maybe a taxi, I don’t really know, I just needed to get back here because I thought you had an inhaler. And then you didn’t and… I guess I was freaking out.”

Ben looks at Eddie sheepishly, “Is that dumb?”

Eddie can’t shake his head hard enough, “No. Nothing is a dumb reason to have a panic attack. You don’t get to control what your triggers are.”

“I don’t know why I thought your inhaler would help, though.”

“It probably would have.”

“I wasn’t having an asthma attack. I was having a panic attack.”

Eddie feels a smile spread across his face, “You ever heard of a gazebo?”

Ben knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s, “A placebo for a panic attack? Really?”

“Yeah, if you felt like you couldn’t breathe for no rational reason, what’s to stop an inhaler from helping you for no rational reason?”

“Can’t argue with that incredible logic, Dr. K.” Ben finally smiles back at Eddie.

“I’m serious. Do you want me to get you one, just to have in case it happens again? I have a prescription I can just get it refilled.” Eddie says seriously. He’s not one hundred percent sure, but a placebo might help. At the very least it’ll be an object to help ground Ben.

“Okay.” Ben smiles even wider.

It’s that easy. They don’t talk about it. Eddie makes Bev pick up the new albuterol prescription from the pharmacy, and gives the inhaler to Ben that night as he’s fluffing his pillows. Eddie doesn’t know if Ben uses it. He doesn’t ever see him if he does. He just knows that Ben walks with a little less weight on his shoulders, and an inhaler sized bump in his pocket everywhere he goes.

The magic of a placebo is truly something that’s never failed Eddie.

If only there was a pill to cure Richie’s growing alcohol dependency, or Stan’s selective mutism, or Mike’s consistent case of ‘kicked puppy’ eyes. Or, you know, a pill that actually does nothing, but could convince them it _did_ fix those things because Eddie is starting to lose his mind.

At first, Mike’s bedtime routine had been cute, if a little bit sad, but three and a half weeks in and Eddie is going to lose his freaking mind if he has to hear Mike tell him ‘I’m sorry’ again. He can deal with the sad looks, and the flinches every time Eddie winces in pain, Mike can’t really help that. Shit though, if Eddie needed an apology from Mike, or if he’d even wanted one, his needs would have been met a long time ago. Now, it’s been going on for way too long and needs to stop.

It’s not like he doesn’t think Mike doesn’t mean it. Eddie knows he does, but it’s too much. What’s done is done. Sure, Mike should’ve told them all about the ritual before they got there, did it, and failed, but at this point who gives a shit? Hindsight is 20/20 and all of that. They ended up winning and being (mostly) in one piece in the end, so Eddie considers that a win anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Mike says one night, and Eddie has finally had enough.

“Shut up.” Eddie says, instead of his usual ‘nothing to be sorry for’.

“What?” Mike looks so thrown off his rhythm by what Eddie’s said he can’t help but laugh.

“No more ‘I’m sorry’s. It’s getting kinda old, Mike.”

“...I’m sorry?”

Eddie laughs again, harder this time. Mike stares at him quizzically, but a small smile plays at his lips too.

“I’m just saying, I know you’re sorry about what happened. But really, it’s been weeks. I’m over it. Everyone else is over it. Everything turned out alright. Stop apologizing to me. I’m sort of running out of things to say back.”

The smile drops from Mike’s mouth and Eddie wonders if he’s just said the most wrong thing, instead of the least.

“Stan isn’t over it.” Mike whispers.

“Stan isn’t over it because he’s blaming _himself_ for what happened, not you.”

“If I had been upfront about what we were up against from that night everything came back, Stan wouldn’t have… It wouldn’t have happened. Stan blames himself because he wasn’t there, but it’s really my fault.”

Here’s the thing: Eddie loves Ben, Beverly, Stan, Richie, Bill, and Mike so very much. Too much to put into words. But right now, Eddie is sure every single one of them are contenders for biggest idiot on the planet. They all blame themselves in some way for what they all went through in the sewers. They’re all letting their insecurities and perceived faults eat them up alive to the point where they can barely function. Which is the biggest load of crap ever. Especially since what happened isn’t anyone’s fault except the stupid freaking clown.

Like, Jesus, is it so hard to understand that sometimes bad things that happen as a result of multiple people’s decisions aren’t necessarily their _fault_?

Apparently so.

“Stan wasn’t there because he was too scared to come back. Do you really think if he knew more about what was waiting for us in Derry, he would’ve been any more likely to come with? Really, Mike, when Stan had that dream, it was game over. It wouldn’t have mattered if you said all that was waiting for us in Derry was a shitty carnival, Stan still would have done exactly what he did to avoid going back. And even if he wouldn’t have, Stan is a grown man and you can’t take responsibility for his actions. Or anyone else’s. Just yours, and you already have. Every night. For three goddamn weeks.”

“Since when are you all wise, Eddie?” Mike asks, grabbing Eddie’s hand and linking their fingers. 

Eddie shrugs in response. He can’t really find the words to say whatever small shred of wisdom he’s gained in the last few weeks has come as a direct result of everyone else in the house losing every ounce of theirs they ever had. Not that Richie had much to lose, but still, Eddie’s gotten what little of it there was.

Mike leans over to kiss Eddie, and it takes him by surprise. Not that Eddie hasn’t been getting kissed lately, but when Mike kisses him, for a moment, he can see everything in Mike’s head clearly.

He sees the love Mike has for Eddie, for all of them.

He parts his lips to the sea of sadness and the waves of guilt, rides them on a boat of relief that everything and everyone will eventually be okay.

He hears each and every ‘I’m sorry’ Mike has ever said to him, but they get drowned out by every infinitely louder ‘I love you’.

When Mike kisses Eddie, they both relax for the first time in weeks.

It feels so good Eddie forgets he’s supposed to be in pain.

“I love you.” Mike says when they finally break apart. There’s no “I’m sorry” at all. Eddie grins.

He doesn’t stop grinning for almost a week. A few days after his talk with Mike is the first of Richie’s shows. It’s the first time Eddie been outside for something other than a doctor’s appointment, and they all get dressed up to go and watch Richie. Even Stan comes along.

“What if I bomb?” Richie says on the ride to the venue. It’s only him and Eddie in the car since Eddie’s the only one who can handle Richie’s raw unhinged energy he gets before shows. But right now, even Eddie is reaching his breaking point.

“You’re not going to bomb.”

“Yeah, okay, sure Eds, but what if I do? What if my jokes bomb and to distract everyone from that I drop my pants to get the attention on my monster cock, but somehow my dick has gotten small from lack of use and everyone laughs and they call me Pickle Rich because it’s the size of a baby dill and my career is over and my dick is smaller and—”

“Beep beep Richie.” Eddie laughs. Jesus, Pickle Rich?

“So… What if?” Richie turns his head and raises his eyebrows at Eddie like he expects him to have an actual response.

“You won’t bomb, Richie, your new jokes are really good,” Richie tries to cut in with another ‘what if’ but Eddie ignores him, “But… if things happen to start going downhill, I promise I’ll save you before you show your shrimp dick to the audience.”

“Pinky promise you won’t let anyone see my dick tonight?” Richie holds out a finger to Eddie. He laughs, but wraps his own around it anyway.

“Promise. I’ll even shut down Mike if he tries to get handsy later. You know how he gets watching you perform.”

Richie snatches his hand away, “Take that back right now. My dick hasn’t been touched by anyone but me for like a month, man. If Mike even looks at me tonight, you best believe he’ll be seeing my dick in three seconds flat.”

“You guys really haven’t been…?” Eddie trails off and hopes Richie gets the point.

“Nah,” Richie shakes his head and shrugs, “You being all bedridden and Stan giving us level 900 cold shoulder is kinda a mood killer.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah, I know! So like I said, pinky promise to keep everyone except you guys from seeing my dick tonight.”

“Pinky promise.” Eddie’s finger again twists around Richie’s. Their hands stay entwined for the rest of the ride.

The show is great. Eddie can hardly believe how much he laughs. Sure, he’d been there as Richie was workshopping, but nothing ever hits the same way it does when Richie’s onstage. He tells stories and jokes so naturally that every time Eddie watches him perform, he falls in love with Richie all over again. By the way all of the Losers look during the show, Eddie knows they feel the same way.

Stan laughs out loud during a joke about Richie getting attacked by birds, and even though there’s no way Richie heard him, Eddie thinks Richie’s smile gets a bit brighter after that, more confident.

Afterwards, Eddie turns his head and pretends not to notice when Richie takes drink after drink until the pink in his cheeks turns to a permanent ruddiness and his eyes can’t stay open long enough for a simple conversation. Everyone is too happy to notice, so Eddie pretends he is too.

The rest of the shows go that way too, or so Eddie can tell from the way Richie stumbles into his room at night, gives him a sloppy kiss, and tells him, “no flashing needed tonight”. Richie rides high on success, confidence, and good reviews.

He finally slips on the flood of booze he’s been guzzling.

“Eds, I fucked up.” He whines as he walks, more like trips, into Eddie’s room the night of the last show. It’s late, and Eddie was asleep. He’s wide awake now. The stench of alcohol fills his nose. It’s all he can do not to freaking gag.

“Jesus, Richie, you stink.” He really does, too. It’s oppressive and nasty and makes Eddie wonder how Richie got home because he hopes to God Richie didn’t drive smelling like that, but none of them were at the show so he has no way of telling.

“Eddie. I’m serious. I bombed tonight. I bombed so fucking hard. Shit! I bombed so hard I got a call from the secret service telling me I was a national security threat. It was that bad.” Richie flops down onto Eddie’s bed face down and lets out a long groan of frustration. Eddie thinks for a moment about kicking Richie’s pungent ass out of his room until he’s had some mouthwash and a shower, but Richie seems so sad and defeated he lets him stay.

“Eddieeeeee… Say something to make me feel better.” Richie groans into the duvet.

Eddie thinks again about not knowing the right thing to say, and goes for the least wrong, “At least you didn’t show anyone your dick.” He hopes it’ll get a smile out of Richie, but there’s only another long groan cut off by a wet sob.

“Everything is fucked up, and the only thing that’s been good in the last month have been these shows, and I fucked ‘em up.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. Day drinking over the one consistently good relationship you’ve ever had falling apart, which turns into afternoon drinking over your massive case of blue balls, which turns into early evening drinking over being a piece of shit because one of your boyfriends is still recovering from almost dying and you’re still thinking about sex, which turns into a preshow freakout because holy shit you’re the worst, which turns into someone handing you shots to calm down, which turns into you walking onstage completely fucked up and barely remembering your name, let alone your set, which turns into bombing so hard Israeli government calls you up and asks if you’re free to help them out in Palestine.”

Shit.

“Make me feel better about sucking, Eddie.” Richie whines again. Eddie wants nothing more than to hug Richie and tell him that everyone bombs, and that it probably wasn’t as bad as he thinks, and that everything will be okay, but none of those are the right things to say. None of those are even the least wrong thing to say, which is another lesson Eddie’s had to learn recently.

The right thing to say is often times exactly what’s going to be the most uncomfortable to say, and downright painful to hear. But it needs to be said.

“You need to stop drinking like this, Richie.” Richie’s head snaps up so fast from the bed Eddie can hear his neck crack.

“That came out of fucking nowhere.”

“Not really.” Eddie swallows and pushes the covers back so he can move closer to Richie on the bed. He runs a hand through Richie’s curls, they’re sweaty and it makes Eddie want to pull away, but he keeps stroking. “I’ve been noticing it a lot, how often you’ve been plastered, it’s just that now seems like a good time to bring it up.”

“You callin’ me an alcoholic Eddie?” Richie twists his head out of Eddie’s grasp and sits up. His eyes, enlarged by his glasses, gleam with tears.

“Not really,” Eddie bites his lip, “Just that you’ve been hitting it pretty hard for a few weeks, and you need to stop before it really gets out of hand.”

“Getting drunk is easier than dealing with feelings.” Richie says like he’s making a point, Eddie bites back a laugh.

“Getting a degree in rocket science is probably easier than dealing with all of the feelings going around this house right now.” He counters.

“Got me there.”

“Seriously though, Richie, everything is really messed up right now, and the only way things are going to get better is if we’re all here, and none of us are too sloppy to deal with things.”

“You pull all of that wisdom out of your ass, or the hole in your chest?”

“Fuck you, man. I’ve always been wise.” Richie’s laugh is watery, but real. It hurts and heals Eddie all the same.

“Eddie, if you’ve always been wise, then I’ve always been wise, and the only wise I’ve ever been is a wise ass, so there’s no fucking way you’ve always been wise.”

Eddie pushes Richie’s shoulder, and laughs when he sways back way farther then necessary.

“Pinky promise things will get better if I stop getting drunk every night?” Richie holds out his finger.

Eddie makes a promise he can’t keep on his own.

The two of them fall asleep like that, pinkies linked as they lay on top of the blankets. Eddie’s back and chest hurt when he wakes up, but it’s still the best night’s sleep he’s gotten in weeks.

Things really do start to look up after that. Seven weeks after everything happened, Eddie gets cleared by his doctor to sleep in the same bed as his partners, and for “nonstrenuous sexual activity”. It’s pretty much the best gift he’s been given since the time Richie put a double ended dildo under the Christmas tree one year.

“It’ll be good to have you back in bed,” Bev smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She was the one who had driven Eddie to his appointment, making her also the first to know he was now ready to be let back from health-induced exile. “Richie and Bill took it upon themselves to use up the extra space and I’m getting tired of Bill’s cold toes on my leg every morning.”

“Richie and Bill? Jeez. How much room do I take up?” Eddie can’t imagine he takes up enough room in bed for both gangly ass Richie and ‘I sleep like a starfish’ Bill to spread out. 

Bev grips the steering wheel tightly, then let’s go completely. Flexes her fingers, let’s go.

“About that, Hon… You’re not the only one who hasn’t been sleeping in bed, lately.”

Stan. It couldn’t be anyone else.

“Stan hasn’t been sleeping with you guys?”

Eddie watches Bev as she drives. She looks straight ahead, and Eddie can’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but from the shaky breath she takes in, Eddie knows they’re glazed over.

“No one wanted to worry you while you were on bed rest, but Stan’s silent treatment has been a bit worse than let on.”

“How can it be worse than him basically going mute and not sleeping in bed anymore?” Eddie’s freaking out now. Shit, he should have known. Stan has always been so good at hiding things about himself. Of course, if everyone can tell something is wrong, that must just be the tip of the iceberg.

“He doesn’t sleep with us anymore because he’s having nightmares. He hasn’t said anything about them, but when Mike went to go find the bedroom he was sleeping in, he was crying out in his sleep. And he hasn’t been working… Well, no, he has, but when I called the office to see if we could meet for lunch one day, his assistant said he leaves at noon Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays now. And I don’t think he’s not talking to us because he won’t… it seems a little bit like he can’t.”

It makes sense, when Eddie thinks about it. The way Stan stares at him in the mornings, like he’s in pain. Eddie has been thinking it’s from guilt, but what if it’s something more? What if Stan wants to say something to him, but he really, truly, can’t make himself?

Also, what the hell is he doing when he leaves work early?

“What do we do about it?” Eddie asks. Bev flexes her fingers again.

“We’ve been asking ourselves that for seven weeks.” The two of them are silent the rest of the ride, and not unlike Stan’s silence, it says a lot more than words ever could.

It’s more bittersweet than he thought it would be, cleaning up his room. Eddie won’t miss sleeping alone, but he’s definitely going to miss leg room, no snoring, and only waking up in a puddle of his own drool (Love the sinner: Ben. Hate the sin: drool.).

He’s stripping the fitted sheet when he notices Stan leaning against the door jamb. Again, those sad eyes follow Eddie’s every movement.

“Can I talk to you?” Eddie drops the sheets back on the bed. Stan doesn’t answer, but he does move fully into the room.

Truth be told, Eddie has no idea what he’s going to say. Stan is such an enigma lately he has absolutely no freaking clue what’s the wrong thing to say, and what’s the more wrong thing to say. Obviously, there isn’t a right thing to say, because after seven weeks surely someone would have said it to Stan by now. But still… the choice between wrong and more wrong is a hard one when you don’t know which is which.

“I don’t actually know what I want to say,” He admits, eyes cutting an embarrassed look at Stan. Stan smirks, small and a bit pained, but it’s there, and it means the world to Eddie.

“Never stopped you before.” Four words. Four words are great. But Eddie wants more. He needs more from Stan. He hasn’t heard Stan speak thirty words all together in the last seven weeks, but now Eddie won’t let go unless he hears fifty in this conversation.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in our bed?”

Stan takes so long to answer, Eddie almost gives up hope that he’s going to at all.

“I can’t.” Six.

“Why not?” God, Eddie hopes Stan doesn’t shut down.

… “It makes me think of that night.” Thirteen. Stan closes the gap between himself and Eddie, sits next to him on the bed.

“Why the bed, though? Why not the bathtub? Or the Synagogue? What about the bed are you so put off by?”

“I left you guys there that night. I left you all sleeping in that room while I did the most cowardly thing I could have. I thought it was brave at the time, but it almost got you killed.”

“No you did—” Eddie tries to interject, but Stan cuts him off right away. He’s lost count of the words. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Yes it did. If I had been there originally, the ritual would have worked and you wouldn’t have gotten stabbed,”

“The first or the second time?” Eddie tries to joke, but Stan’s face pales further. He swipes his thumb across the mostly healed scar on Eddie’s and winces.

“Either. Both. Neither of them would have happened if I had just been brave enough to come in the first place.”

“Bowers stabbed me in the face in the bathroom, so if you think you could’ve stopped that, you’re crazy. And if you can be blamed for Pennywise getting me in the chest, even though you weren’t there, then it’s also definitely my fault I let him get the drop on me. Right?”

Stan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose like he always does when he thinks the person he’s talking to isn’t getting it. But Eddie’s got it. He knows why Stan blames himself. He understands. He understood why all of the rest of them blamed themselves too, but just because he understands it, doesn’t mean it’s right. 

“You got hurt because of me.”

“I got hurt because of Pennywise.”

“You’re being difficult.”

“Stan, you’ve been the freaking definition of difficult for seven weeks. You won’t speak to anyone, and I get it, I do. Guilt is eating you alive and all that. But c’mon man, textbook difficult. You won’t sleep in our bed. Do you have any idea what Bev, Mike, and Ben have been going through? Without us in bed with them Richie and Bill have been going full starfish. And why the fuck are you skipping out of work three days a week? What’s up with that?”

When Eddie meets Stan’s eyes, he looks halfway between wanting to laugh and leave the conversation immediately. It’s the most like himself he’s looked for months.

“Therapy.” Eddie raises an eyebrow. Now that Stan’s started talking, Eddie won’t let him get away with one word answers. “I leave work to go to therapy Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Monday and Friday are just with my psychiatrist, and Wednesday I go to a group.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It’s embarrassing. I stopped going to therapy for my OCD years ago, and now I’m back again.”

“How the fuck is going to therapy embarrassing, Stanley?”

“I just said, I stopped going. I didn’t need it anymore, but now I do. That’s embarrassing.”

“Difficult. That’s you being difficult.” Truly, Stan knows none of them would judge him for going to therapy, they’d actually all support the shit out of him for it, but like Eddie’s been saying… Stan has been difficult.

“I don’t mean to be.” Stan lowers his voice, and he sounds so much like a wounded puppy Eddie can’t help but wrap his arms around him and drag them both down to the bed in a tight embrace. Stan’s torso presses down onto Eddie’s own, and he isn’t even in pain.

Stan only lets it go on for a minute before he pulls back, scrunching up his nose, “This bed doesn’t have sheets on it.”

“Kind of gross, isn’t it?” Eddie’s left hand slides up Stan’s body, then rests gently on his cheek.

“Yeah,” Stan nods and nuzzles into Eddie’s palm, “We should probably get up.”

“After.” Eddie decides that he’s going to go for it. It’s been two months of Stan dodging his kisses, and the closest thing he’s had to sexual contact with any of his lovers is the few times he’s gotten a boner while Ben reaches over to fluff his pillows (what can he say? Eddie’s a guy who loves being taken care of).

“After?” Stan asks like he doesn’t know what Eddie is talking about, but the smirk and the glint in his eye tells a whole different story.

“Yeah, after.” Eddie kisses Stan. Just leans in and does it. Stan doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t pull away, or dodge, or swerve. He kisses Eddie back.

With fervor.

Like, teenager who landed on his crush for spin the bottle fervor. Their lips press together so tightly they might stick together.

It’s so good, and it’s been so long that Stan’s tongue barely brushes the seam of Eddie’s lips and he’s already got a boner. Stan thinks therapy is embarrassing? Try being forty and getting rock hard from thirty two seconds of making out.

Oh.

Eddie rolls his hips against Stan’s and realizes he’s in the very same situation. Eddie gasps when their clothed dicks brush against each other’s, Stan takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. His tongue invades Eddie’s mouth with no warning or question. He throws his leg over Eddie’s hips and covers Eddie’s body with his own.

God, there’s nothing Eddie’s missed more than this. Except, maybe, the double ended dildo.

Eddie has been described as many things, but patient has never been one of them, so it must not come of any surprise to Stan when he reaches down and untucks Stan’s shirt, then goes to undo the buttons. He does, however, detach himself from Eddie and sit up on his hips.

“Did the doctor clear you for sex?” And he has, Eddie’s appointment was earlier today, so he knows he has, but even if he hadn’t… Eddie would lie a million times to get a handful of Stan’s curls in his hand and his dick in his ass.

“Cleared for nonstrenuous sexual activity, so as long as you aren’t planning anything crazy, we’re good.”

“Good.” Is all Stan says in response. Eddie is sure he’s bending down for another kiss when he leans back down, but Stan misses Eddie’s lips and goes straight to attacking his neck. He nips at Eddie’s collarbone, sucks deep marks onto his pulse point, and peppers kisses up his jawline. He kisses the shell of Eddie’s ear, then all over Eddie’s face, and ends with the scar on his left cheek.

Stan pulls back again. Eddie almost grabs him by the hair to pull him back down, but Stan holds up a single finger. He unbuttons his own shirt and throws it on the ground, usual Stanley Uris care abandoned. He starts doing the same to Eddie’s, but his fingers still a little more than halfway down. Eddie closes his eyes and waits. The next button never gets flicked open.

“I’m sorry.” When Eddie opens his eyes, Stan is staring at the bandage on his chest. The wound is mostly healed, but Stan still changes the bandages every night. He’s actually the only one who knows what Eddie looks like under it. Eddie can’t even make himself look when it’s getting changed.

“Stan,” Stan breaks his gaze away from Eddie’s chest. His eyes are watery. “It’s not your fault.” Stan blinks. A tear falls down. Obviously, that was not the least wrong thing to say.

“I forgive you.” Eddie tries again. And he does. Stan isn’t at fault for Eddie’s injury, but he can’t convince him of that tonight. So instead, he forgives him. Eddie forgives Stan for whatever Stan is blaming himself for.

Stan smiles. It looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. That’s it. Eddie feels his fingers open the next button on Eddie’s shirt. And the next. And the next. He pushes the shirt open and splays his hands across the part of Eddie’s chest that’s unmarred. The cold air makes Eddie shiver, but that might also be the anticipation. He can’t tell when Stan is looking at him like that.

“There isn’t lube in here.” Stan leans down and kisses the middle of Eddie’s sternum. He can’t breathe. In the best way. Stan presses a kiss to each of Eddie’s nipples, then leans up again. “So… what do we do?”

“The bedroom. There’s always some there.” Eddie gasps.

Stan pulls back again, frowning, and God, if Eddie could just stop saying the wrong thing for long enough to get fucked, that would be really fucking nice. He’s kind of dying right now.

“Or Bill’s office. He pretends he doesn’t, but we all know he jerks off in there. Maybe he’s got lube.” Eddie offers instead. Stan shakes his head. He then gets off the bed and stands there, staring at Eddie. Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest.

“Well… Are we going to the bedroom or not?” The smirk is back again. Eddie doesn’t care if he’s being laughed at, though. He’s going to get fucked.

Eddie all but jumps off the bed, tearing off his unbuttoned shirt as he does so. Stan is already making his way down the hallway. For someone who’s been too traumatized to even enter the room until now, Stan walks with surprising confidence.

Eddie doesn’t know what they expected to see, walking into their shared bedroom on the hunt for lube, but it definitely wasn’t Richie, looking confusedly between the two of them, then knowingly, and finally scandalized.

“Are you telling me Stanley Uris, that the first time you’re coming into this bedroom in months, it’s to fuck our poor, injured Eddie? Is that what the fuck you’re telling me right now?”

Eddie thinks Stan might freak and leave, but he doesn’t. He just smirks at Richie; God that fucking smirk.

“Jealous, Richie?” He says. Richie looks like he’s about to blow a fucking cap.

“Abso-fucking-lutely!”

“Then what’s stopping you from joining us?” Oh god, Eddie might just melt into a fucking puddle. He’s not sure if he can handle both Stan and Richie at the same time, but fuck if he’s not going to try.

Richie looks between the two of them, watching for a sign of dissent in either of their eyes, when he doesn’t find it. He grins.

“Thank you, Jesus, for answering my horny prayers.” Richie looks up at the ceiling, then laughs. Eddie can’t help but smile too, but Stan looks utterly unamused. Richie must notice, because he adds, “My bad. Thank you, Jew God, for answering my horny prayers.”

“Shut up.” Richie laughs, and Eddie recognizes the sound as one that’s been missing for a while. It’s Richie’s Stan laugh. The one that comes out only between the two of them, because as annoyed as they get with each other, Stan more so with Richie, they also bring out a certain humor neither of them has with anyone else. Also, a certain bedroom dynamic Eddie can’t remember what it’s like to be in the middle of, but hopes he’s going to find out in the next few minutes.

“You want to get him ready, or can I do the honors?” Richie asks as he grabs the lube out of the bedside table. Stan meets Eddie’s eyes, raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘do you care’. Eddie shakes his head.

“Go ahead.”

Richie doesn’t waste any time after getting to go ahead. Eddie chuckles at his eagerness, but doesn’t complain because who the fuck would complain about your partner being ‘too eager’ to fuck you? Richie lays Eddie flat on the bed, and goes for his pants. Eddie reaches down to help a little, but Richie swats his hand away. Unbuttoned and fly down, Richie yanks his pants and underwear the rest of the way down and sends them flying.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie thinks he sees Stan duck to pick them up and put them in the laundry basket, but from the moment he’s fully naked he gets tunnel vision. Nothing exists outside of Richie, and the room he’s made for himself between Eddie’s spread legs. But there, Eddie is hyper aware of everything.

The light brushes of Richie’s fingers up and down his calves.

Then the pressure of his thumbs on Eddie’s inner thighs, getting Eddie to open his legs wider for him.

Richie’s radiating body heat.

The anticipation burning at the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

The flick of the lube cap.

Slight pressure on his hole.

The shared hitched breath between him and Richie.

Finally, the finger slipping in. Just until the first knuckle at first, but after a second, further down, completely sinking into him.

It’s just a finger, Eddie recognizes, somewhere out of his euphoric state, but it’s Richie’s finger. More specifically, it’s Richie’s finger for the first time in what feels like forever, so it’s perfect.

Eddie rocks down onto it desperately. He can’t stop himself. He needs more and his brain isn’t working well enough to be able to actually tell Richie he needs more, so he has to show him.

A second finger joins the first. Slowly, like the other, until it’s already in and then Richie’s moving them, making space for himself in Eddie’s hole. It’s so good and been so long Eddie’s back arches off the bed the second Richie brushes his prostate. Eddie’s hand that had been gripping the sheets flies off to sink itself into Richie’s curls.

“Jesus.” Richie whispers. But no god has anything to do with what’s happening between them, Eddie is sure. No god could promise a heaven better than life on Earth when _this_ is what they have down here.

Richie works in a third finger and Eddie is absolutely sure he is making all types of pornographic noises that do way too much for Richie’s ego, but he doesn’t care. Seven weeks without any sexual contact, and anyone else on the planet would be shaking over Richie’s masterful fingers, too.

“Richie, please don’t tell me you’re jerking off in bed.” Richie’s fingers still in Eddie as Mike’s voice rings out behind the bedroom door.

“Come on, we just washed them for Eddie’s first night back.” Ben adds, then the two of them are walking into the bedroom. Richie still isn’t moving his fingers, and Eddie thinks about clenching hard to get them moving again, but all thoughts leave him when he and Ben make eye contact.

Ben looks surprised to see them like that, wide eyed and slack jawed, but what really has Eddie’s mind going blank is the way Ben swallows the second their eyes meet. The slow blink Ben does to process what he’s seeing. The blink and you miss it transition from surprise to raw hunger: that’s what does Eddie in.

There’s not a thought in Eddie’s head when he decides just Stan and Richie aren’t enough for him tonight. He wants them all.

“Richie, I swear to God if you get cum on the sheets, you’re doing laundry for a month.” Bev walks in a few seconds behind Mike and Ben, Bill on her heels. Both of them stop dead in their tracks when they see Richie and Eddie.

“I can’t believe you, Richie.” Bev laughs as she looks between the two of them. Eddie’s cheeks flame. “Of course it only took you three hours after he got cleared for sex for you to try and fuck.”

“Hey,” Eddie moans out at Richie’s fingers unconsciously flexing in him when he starts to defend himself, “Stanley started it.”

Everyone looks over to Stan for confirmation. Stan, who’s standing at the foot of the bed, unmoving since they got in the room, shrugs.

“Does it matter who started it when you’re the one who got caught fingering him?”

Richie’s eyes widen, “Shit, Eds, I’m sorry,” he says, gently slipping his fingers out. Eddie wants to cry that taking his fingers out is not what Eddie wants, but he stays quiet.

“Alright then,” Bill puts a hand on Bev’s shoulder, “wh-wh-whoever started it, we’ll give you s-s-s-some privacy.” He starts to lead them both back out, and Mike and Ben start to follow, but now that Eddie knows what he wants he sure as fuck isn’t going to let them leave.

“Don’t go!” The four of them turn back to look at Eddie. He sits up in bed, shivering from the cold and from being on display like this. “I want to get fucked.”

Three of them just look back at him quizzically, but Mike laughs, “’m sure Richie and Stan got you covered.”

“I want to get fucked by all of you.” Eddie insists. God, he remembers the last time they did this, where Stan had insisted all of them fuck him. At the time, he’d thought Stan was biting off more than he could chew, but now Eddie knows the need. He feels it so deep he knows it won’t be sated until he’s had them all.

“Eddie, babe, you got cleared for _nonstrenuous _sexual activity a few hours ago. I don’t think it’s a good idea…” Bev reasons. Fuck reason, though. Fuck reason because nothing in the last two months of their lives has been reasonable and if Eddie wants to get unreasonably fucked by the six people he loves the most, then who the fuck is ‘reason’ to stop him?

“As long as we don’t do anything crazy…” Eddie tries, but gets cut off by everyone else laughing.

“I th-th-think an orgy, no matter how tame, is top of the list of s-s-s-s-s-strenuous activities.”

“Not if we treat him like the pillow princess he always wishes he was.” Richie might have the right idea.

“Richie, even then, it’s been weeks since we’ve done anything. Don’t you think this is a little much?” Ben, sweet, precious Ben, needs to shut his mouth.

“It might be. We don’t all have to fuck him, either. Most of the time we just do what we want with who we want.” Mike offers, and okay, that might be the reasonable thing to do. But again, fuck reason. Also, fuck the six of them for having a conversation about whether he’s healed enough to fuck without even asking him how he feels.

“What do you think, Eddie? What can you handle?” Stanley Uris. Mind reader, love of Eddie’s life. Eddie flashes him a grateful smile, then looks around the room at everyone.

Truthfully, as much as he wants all of them to fuck him, Bev and Ben make a great point. He might not be able to handle it.

“I want,” Eddie starts, but that wasn’t the question Stan asked, so he starts over, “I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to stand you all fucking me, but I want to try it. It’s been a long fucking time and I just need…” He isn’t sure exactly what he needs though, except them.

Stan nods. He understands. The rest of them nod. Maybe they do too.

Richie gets up from the bed and walks over to the closet. He pulls down from one of the shelves a box specifically labelled ‘Eddie’s toys’. Eddie’s breath stops in his chest, wondering what Richie could possibly be getting from there. He all but blacks out when Richie pulls out the double ended dildo.

“Does Eddie’s best friend get a turn too?” There’s a chorus of no’s so Richie puts the toy back, but not before grabbing something small in his hands. He puts the box back without a word. Eddie can’t even see what he has in his hands until Richie’s back in the spot between his legs. He’s holding a pink silicone cock ring between two fingers.

“Just to keep you from ending the fun too early.” He chuckles. Usually, the toy is used as punishment, Eddie sometimes has a little problem with getting over excited, but tonight Eddie’s glad to have it. He even mutters a thanks as Richie works him back to full hardness for a minute before slipping it on.

“People! People! Step right up to have a ride on bicycle Eddie!” Richie rubs his hands together in a terrible impression of an old timey salesman when it’s on, snug at the base of Eddie’s cock. It’s obnoxious, but relieves a bit of the tension in the room.

All six of them look at him like Eddie’s supposed to decided between them, and it makes him squirm. He knows none of them are going to have their egos wounded, but he still feels like there’s a most and least wrong thing to do. The choice makes him sweat, and he almost says he can’t make it.

Until he sees Ben. The hungry look, the one that Eddie saw fall into place, still hasn’t left is face. It hadn’t even, when Ben was telling them it probably wasn’t a good idea too all fuck Eddie. Ben, with the hungry look and the muscly arms that fluffed Eddie’s pillows for seven weeks no longer feels like an option to Eddie. He feels like the answer.

“Ben.” Eddie says. An answer to a question no one asked. Ben smiles. It’s nuts. Twenty odd years together and Ben still smiles at all of them like they give him butterflies in his stomach. It’s one of the infinite reasons Eddie loves him.

“Did Richie get you ready enough?” Ben asks once he’s situated between Eddie’s legs. More than anything, Eddie wants to say that yes, he was ready to go, but truth is, Richie had only gotten three fingers in. And Ben does not have a three finger to get ready dick.

Eddie shakes his head.

“Richie,” Ben calls, but the bottle of lube is already sailing through the air. He catches it with ease. “Thanks.”

Ben starts off with one finger, gentleman that he is, but Eddie gets tired of that before he works it in all the way. When he moves up to two, the same thing. Finally, Ben pushes a third finger into Eddie. That’s when it starts to get exciting. His fingers are wider than Richie’s boney ones, so the third finger is a stretch. It burns a bit and feels so good Eddie is thankful already for the cock ring.

The fourth finger, Eddie keens. He hasn’t been stretched like this in so long it feels foreign and hurts, but if Ben even thought about taking them out Eddie would scream. He might regardless, Eddie thinks when Ben starts to move them. Just a slow in and out thrust, but holy shit. It’s too much, and not nearly enough.

“Are you alright?” Ben asks, leaning down to kiss the furrow in Eddie’s brow.

“Fuck me, please.” Eddie begs, thrusting down onto Ben’s fingers.

Ben listens. He gently takes his fingers out, and just as gently replaces them with his cock. It’s slow at first, just Ben moving his hips closer and closer to Eddie’s until after what feels like eternity, they’re flush together.

They sit there like that for a moment, Ben’s cock filling Eddie all the way up, Eddie looking at Ben like he’s the most miraculous thing in the world. It’s perfect. They’re perfect. Ben’s perfect. Perfect face. Perfect smile. Perfect personality. Perfect lover. Perfect cock. Perfect cock that Eddie wishes had started moving in him a while ago.

He reaches up and grabs Ben by the hairs at his nape, drags him down for a kiss that’s definitely more tongue than anything else, and says, “Fuck me.” in between nips at Ben’s lips.

Once again, Ben follows his direction. He starts fucking Eddie, and that’s really when things short circuit for him. He doesn’t know if Ben fucks him for five minutes or fifty, he can’t tell the difference between Ben’s long strokes and his short ones, and he definitely can’t tell how many times he would’ve come already if not for the cock ring, but it’s probably a lot.

Eddie couldn’t even tell you where Ben’s body ends and his begins as he fucks him. His legs are wrapped around Ben, heels digging into his back so hard he knows he should let go a little, but Ben is fucking Eddie rigid. He couldn’t let go if he tried.

Eddie couldn’t tell you when he starts crying, either. Somewhere between the first and the seventeenth time Ben hits his prostate, maybe. Or possibly when Ben leans down to whisper absolutely filthy things in his ear.

“You love getting fucked.” He pants.

“Not even off bedrest for a day before you want us all to fuck you.” He can’t disagree.

“You need to be fucked so bad I wonder how you survived all this time without it.” Eddie does too.

He keeps whispering and Eddie keeps crying. He brushes the hair out of Eddie’s face and Eddie cries more. He kisses the wet corners of Eddie’s eyes and Eddie wonders absentmindedly if maybe he’d actually started crying the second Ben had started fucking him.

Ben comes inside Eddie with a cry of his own and Eddie fucking sobs.

“Are you alright?” Ben asks again when they’re done, and Eddie has never been fucking better.

“Are you sure you’re up for more?” Mike asks while he moves into Ben’s recently vacated spot between Eddie’s legs. Eddie doesn’t even dignify the question with a response, just drags Mike down to him by the back of his neck and kisses him in the completely filthy way he hasn’t been able to in weeks.

“Alright then,” Mike laughs when Eddie lets him go long enough for a breath. His smile is so beautiful. It’s the reason Eddie fell in love with him. Mike’s big smile and his big dreams and the way he never ever made Eddie feel small. Some things never change. Mike’s smile is still big, his dreams are even bigger, and the only time Eddie feels small around him is when he wants it.

“I love you.” Eddie says, just to see if Mike’s smile can get any bigger. It does. Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest. Mike goes back in for another kiss.

“Love you too.” He says into Eddie’s mouth and fuck. How did he ever get so lucky? How did any of them ever get lucky enough to get Mike? Eddie goes back and forth about the existence of God, but the time they went to the synagogue with Stan, thanking the big man for Mike was the first thing he did.

“I wanna ride you.” Eddie says into Mike’s mouth, breaking up their kiss.

“I feel like that might count as the strenuous activity you were warned about.” Mike says, pulling back to look at the rest of them for confirmation. But they’re too busy to notice.

Bill and Stan are making out like teenagers on the floor, roaming hands and stiffys in their briefs included. Richie is eating Bev out like it’s his last meal while she leans back into Ben as he kisses up and down her neck. They’re all too wrapped up in each other to comment one way or another.

“Just let me,” Eddie pleads, pushing up so that both he and Mike are kneeling on the bed, “I promise I’ll tell you if I’m in pain.” Mike looks like he’s going to ponder it some more, or maybe even interrupt the others, but Eddie isn’t patient enough for that. He pushes Mike back onto the bed and straddles him before he can stop it.

“Eddie. I’m serious. I don’t want you to be in pain because of me again.” Mike says just as Eddie is lining up his cock. And that’s a bit of a mood killer if Eddie’s ever heard one. He’s about to fuck Eddie for the first time in months and he’s blaming himself for Eddie being hurt again.

“Mike. I’m serious. If you bring up me getting hurt one more fucking time, I’m never fucking you again.” And it’s a lie. A big lie. A huge lie. Eddie couldn’t not fuck Mike if he tried. No human being could resist fucking Mike. Eddie’s pretty sure, that if there was a scientific study created to find the most fuckable human being, it’d be Mike, no question. Who the fuck wants the Rock or Rihanna when you could have a farm boy turned librarian with abs of steel and a heart of gold? But still, Eddie’s got to at least pretend he has a bargaining chip.

“Eddie,” Mike warns.

“Mike,” Eddie singsongs back. And that’s the last real word either of them says for a while. Eddie sinks down onto Mike’s cock fast and hard. Mike’s eyes go from wide open to scrunched up to wide open like he can’t decide what the fuck to do.

It’s what makes riding Eddie’s favorite position. He loves to see what he does to his lovers from above. He craves the look in their eyes when he moves less or more than they think. He chases the way they inhale sharply when he gets down to it and just _grinds_ for a minute. He loves it all, can’t live without it.

Usually, he also loves the burn in his thighs, and the tightening in his abs that tell him he’s working hard, but it feels different tonight. The burning comes on too soon, and the tightening in Eddie’s chest is a harsher pain than just a welcome discomfort.

“Mike,” Eddie says, stopping all movements and when Mike’s eyes meet his, Eddie’s sure he’s going to be mad, or annoyed, or something else that will unintentionally make Eddie feel like shit. There’s none of that, though. Mike takes one look at Eddie, and nods.

“I got you.” He says, and without missing a beat, flips Eddie onto his back. His hands run up and down Eddie’s sides and stomach, gentle over the bandage, but not disgusted or hurt. It makes Eddie’s heart race faster than it already was.

When Mike starts fucking him again, it’s slower than Eddie was going, more for Eddie’s pleasure than for Mike’s.

“Please,” It makes Eddie whine. “Please take it off.” He needs to come. He needs that fucking cock ring off of him, and he needs it off now. God, he needs to come with Mike inside of him or he’s going to combust.

Mike shakes his head, and kisses Eddie’s forehead.

“I’ll take it off it you want, but if I do, that’s it for tonight. Are you sure you want me to do it?” He’s still fucking Eddie, which isn’t really fair. Asking him to make a decision while getting fucked like Mike fucks him is damn near impossible. But even through the haze, Eddie knows one thing for sure. This can’t be it. This cannot be the end. He won’t let it.

Eddie shakes his head.

Mike smiles down at him, that big beautiful smile, and nods knowingly.

“That’s what I thought.”

The way Mike fucks him changes after that, like he’s stopped fucking Eddie for Eddie, and started fucking him for himself. It’s fucking incredible, maybe even better than before. He goes for deep, long thrusts, then speeds up with no care for the fucked dizzy feeling it gives Eddie. And when he finally comes, he doesn’t stop to let Eddie take a breath, just keeps thrusting through his orgasm like he can make it to the next one.

Eddie tries to ignore the tear that falls down his cheek when Mike pulls out, but Mike, ever observant, leans down to kiss it away.

“I love you.” He says to Eddie.

“Love you too.” Eddie says back around the tears that are now flowing freely from his eyes.

“Y-y-you still u-up for more?” Bill approaches the bed not even five seconds after Mike gets up. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck is full of red marks that’ll without a doubt turn deep purple by morning. Even if Eddie hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he’d have known Bill was with Stan before. None of them like marking their territory as much as he does, and Stan is definitely the only one of them with enough self-control to not fuck Bill when he looks this beautiful.

“Always ready for you, Big Bill.” Ew, Eddie is never saying that again.

“Y-y-you sound like Richie.”

“I know, and I promise to never say it again as long as you promise to get over here and fuck me right the fuck now.”

Bill smiles his sloppy little boyhood smile, “I p-p-promise.” Now that the stutter is back, it’s hard not to spend every day comparing Bill to his childhood self. He’s different in a lot of ways, Eddie is sure they all are, but he’s the same in all of the ways that matter. Twenty seven years ago, every one of the losers had fallen in love with Bill first. All this time later, it’s not hard to figure out why.

“Do you think you could handle if w-w-we…” Bill doesn’t even need to finish the sentence; Eddie knows exactly what he wants. As riding is to Eddie, doggystyle is to Bill. The first year Bill and Eddie fucked, Eddie was super insecure about the fact that Bill asked for doggystyle almost every time. But after a while, Eddie realized it wasn’t anything negative, Bill just really fucking liked it from behind. Now, he doesn’t even question it. He just gets on his hands and knees and enjoys the truth behind Richie’s nickname for him ‘Big Bill’.

Tonight is no different, and sure, his legs are wobbly from two intense fucking sessions already, but Eddie is stubborn as shit, so he gets on his hands and knees and anchors himself through sheer force of will.

Bill gets up close behind him, but doesn’t touch him for at least thirty seconds. Seriously, Eddie can hear him moving, but he can’t see anything, and nothing is happening and it’s freaking him out. 

“What’s going o—” Eddie’s question gets cut off by what he hopes is a moan, but probably sounded more like a scream. Bill finally made a move, and holy shit was it a move. His tongue darts out and kitten licks at Eddie’s hole. He doesn’t stop there, either, he keeps going.

He goes between licking and sucking at Eddie’s hole and sets a rhythm too fast for Eddie to predict, but slow enough to enjoy. Thoroughly. Fucking. Enjoy.

It’s so incredible Eddie cries for the third time that night, and has to bite his tongue to stop from begging Bill to take the ring off. Bill doesn’t let it go on long enough to come to that through, and just before Eddie’s will breaks down, Bill pulls away with one last swipe of his tongue.

“Ready?” He asks. He doesn’t even give Eddie a chance to respond. It’s probably a good thing because Eddie is too busy trying to compose himself to say anything. The moment Bill pushes in, any composure Eddie thought he had is gone.

With every inch of Bill’s dick that’s in him, Eddie’s arms shake a little bit more, his breath comes a little bit faster, and the tears fall down his cheeks a little bit faster.

When Bill finally gets in him all the way, hips touching Eddie’s ass, everything goes. Eddie’s arms collapse from under him and he goes down to the bed with a cut off sob. Bill doesn’t care. He just moves to grab Eddie’s hips with two hands rather than one and starts fucking. He doesn’t miss a single beat.

Eddie can’t stop thinking about the cock ring; how badly he wants it off, but how much more he needs it to stay on. It’s driving him insane while keeping him grounded. It’s the worst idea Richie’s ever had, and the best.

When Bill reaches around him with one hand, and starts to jerk Eddie off in time with his thrusts, Eddie knows he can’t take it. It’s too much, and Bill fucking him is already the greatest thing ever, but if he keeps his hand on Eddie’s dick, it’ll ruin everything.

“Don’t.” Eddie says, reaching under himself with a shaking hand to swat Bill away, Bill laughs from above him.

“You’ve never told me to _stop_ touching your dick before.” He’s trying to sound cocky, but the fraying edge of his voice is impossible to miss. He’s close. And Eddie knows just what to do to send him over the edge.

Eddie uses the small amount of strength that hasn’t been fucked out of him already to start moving his hips back to meet Bill’s thrusts. When Bill moans and his grip on Eddie’s hips tighten, Eddie does the thing he knows will have Big Bill coming like a freaking freight train.

“C’mon Daddy.” And there it is. Bill’s hips stop and Eddie feels his hot cum filling him.

“Daddy? Really?” Bill asks after he pulls out, and Eddie’s flipped back onto his back. It makes him grin.

“You’re a little predictable, Bill.”

“Am n-n-not.”

“Are too.” Bev and Eddie say at the same time. Eddie turns to her and grins.

“Let me guess, he took you from behind and came like a teenager when you called him Daddy?” She asks as she approaches the bed and sits down on the corner near Eddie’s feet.

“Maybe I am a l-l-l-little bit.”

“No shit.” Bev smiles at Bill, then turns back to Eddie, “Are you still doing alright?”

Eddie’s ever seen. Her eyes are wide and bright. Eddie’s never really been a boob guy, hell, until he met Bev he wasn’t even a _girl_ guy, but Bev’s breasts are way too perky to belong to an almost forty year old. It’s incredible. She looks amazing. Probably the best of all of them, and none of them are doing too bad.

“You up for this?” She asks with a hand on Eddie’s shin. She meets his eyes with equal parts arousal and concern and how could Eddie ever say no?

He nods again, then swallows, “Yeah. I’m up for it.” Bev needs verbal consent. It’s been her thing since the beginning. It was what made everything so easy when they started out together. Nothing happened that everyone hadn’t verbally and enthusiastically consented. Their early years had Bev to thank for being so smooth, without drama or consent issues.

“Scoot up and sit against the headboard.” Eddie does without question. Bev follows him and sits on his thighs. Eddie can feel her warmth radiating onto him, it makes him shiver.

“I’m gonna ride you,” She looks straight into Eddie’s eyes as she speaks, Eddie couldn’t break eye contact if he wanted to: she’s captivating. “If you want to come, I’ll take off the ring now and we can finish when you do.” She shuffles forward a bit so that she’s right over Eddie’s dick. It takes all of his self-control not to buck his hips up.

“Or,” She offers, getting in real close Eddie’s ear, “We can leave the ring on and we finish when I do. Your choice.”

This will be the fourth one, just Richie and Stan left after this. Eddie knows the two of them will have no problem taking care of each other if Eddie gets off with Bev, but that isn’t what he wants. He wants to have them. He wants them all to fuck him tonight, and even though it means not finishing in Bev, Eddie knows the choice he has to make.

“Keep it on.” He says. Bev doesn’t say anything, just nods and presses a light kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

“Ready?” She says with her mouth still on him.

“Yes.” He says, barely finishing the word before Bev is slamming her hips down. It knocks the wind out of Eddie in the best way. He hadn’t expected a hard and fast kind of night from Bev, but now that he knows that’s what he’s getting, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bev is hot and wet and so tight he thinks back to the first time this happened, and how as a sixteen year old he’d come so fast he’d been too embarrassed to face Bev for a week. If not for the cock ring, Eddie is sure they’d have a repeat.

Fucking Beverly is exactly how everything between Eddie and Bev usually goes. She takes the lead. She sets the pace. She takes care of him.

As she bounces on him, Eddie notices something. And then he can’t get it out of his mind, and he can’t stop himself from doing it. I mean, they’re right there, so close to mouth height, and they look so fucking good.

Eddie reaches one his hand up to cup her left breast, and ducks his head to suck on the nipple of the left one. Bev moans loudly above him and slows down to almost a full stop. He’d caught her off guard.

“Like that.” She says when he tweaks her nipple between his fingers, “Please” when he takes the one in his mouth gently between his teeth, “Don’t stop” when he starts to thrust his hips up into her as much as he can.

Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps going, switching between mouthing at and rolling her nipples in his fingers. He doesn’t slow down until she’s seizing up and clenching around his cock. He doesn’t detach from her until she yanks gently at his hair as she shudders.

“Love you.” She says while he’s still inside of her, hard out of his mind and so desperate to come he’s almost in tears again. He tries to say it back to her, but then he’s sliding out of her and his mind whites out.

Everything is too much. Everywhere she’s touching him is on fire, and everywhere that she’s not is frozen. Eddie’s skin buzzes and it roars in his ears, but that might just be his blood rushing in his head. He can’t keep his eyes open because all he sees are colors and dots and stars floating in his vision and it’s all too much, but somehow, Eddie needs more.

“You okay?” Eddie feels a hand on his forehead, wiping the sweat. He doesn’t know whose hand it is by touch, but he does know the voice. He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Richie,” He says, blinking away the stars in his eyes to look up at the man he’s been in love with since before he knew what love was.

“Damn, Eds, you’re completely fucked out.”

“Nuh uh,” Eddie says, even though he totally is, because Richie is right here, and Richie hasn’t fucked him yet.

“Yeah huh.”

“Nuh uh. Can still go another round.”

“I’d believe you a whole lot more if you could keep your eyes open while lying to me.”

Eddie opens his eyes again, determined to keep them open this time as he begs for Richie, “I need to come. Please, Richie, fuck me so that I can come.”

“Alriiiiight.” Richie can act reluctant all he wants, but Eddie knows he wants this just as much as he does. Even with hazy eyes, Eddie can see right through him.

Richie pulls him down so that he’s laying flat on his back again. He spreads Eddie’s legs like he’s doing it for the thousandth time. He looks into Eddie’s eyes like it’s the very first time. Eddie starts crying the minute Richie is in him. It’s all too much. He thought he could handle them all, and he’s gotten pretty close, but this is it. From the second Richie starts to move, Eddie knows it.

It sounds bad, but Eddie can’t even feel what Richie’s doing to him. He knows they’re fucking, and that it feels good, but with every thrust, Eddie feels like he’s being shaken out of his body. He starts to float away. The burning need to fuck settles into a low, sated flame. The buzzing in his skin turns into a pleasant purr.

Everything is nice and warm. Eddie knows he must have a dopey smile on his face, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters, that’s how good he feels. He can’t even bother to be self-conscious.

“I’m gonna take the ring off, okay? Come whenever.” Richie’s voice is right in his ear, but it feels far away. It doesn’t matter, anyway. The cock ring, that is. Eddie stopped caring about whether he came the minute this fuzzy feeling washed over him. 

He’s pretty sure he does come, though; sometime between Richie taking the ring off, and Richie’s own orgasm. It feels good, sure, a huge relief of the last bit of tension left in Eddie’s body, but it’s not enough to get him out of the soft place he’s in. Eddie’s not even sure he would’ve wanted it to. It probably would’ve been anticlimactic to the way he’s feeling now.

Somewhere, beyond the haze of Eddie’s vision, he feels Richie pull out of him. He hears the voices of the six people he loves most around him. He feels safe and happy and tingly all over. They’ve taken such good care of him, every single one of them. All six.

Eddie feels like a bucket of water has been poured on him. It hasn’t been all six. There was only five. Still hazy, he tries to think of who. Ben first. Then Mike. Bill. Bev. Richie.

Stan.

Stan.

“Stan.” Eddie’s eyes open like he’s been shocked and he sits up so fast it makes him dizzy. Where is Stan? Where did he go? Did he leave? Did he leave them again?

“I’m here, Eddie. I’m here.” Stan.

Stan crosses the room in seconds to sit by Eddie’s side. He pulls Eddie into a close hug and Eddie melts into it.

“I’m here.” He keeps saying, even though Eddie doesn’t ask again. He says it over and over and over and Eddie knows he’s here now, but what he wants to know, what he’s been asking himself for the last two months, isn’t if he’s here. It’s if he’s going to try and leave again.

“I won’t ever leave again.” Stan says into Eddie’s hair. He can definitely read minds. Eddie pulls Stan harder against him.

“Lay down.” Stan commands after a few long moments of just holding Eddie, and letting Eddie hold him right back.

Eddie goes down without a fight, curling up on his side as Stan moves around to continue to hold him against his chest.

Only a few minutes ago, Eddie was so fucked out and sated that he couldn’t think of another round, but now, with Stan’s arm wrapped protectively around his chest and his warmth settling deep into Eddie’s skin, Eddie wants more.

“Fuck me.” He turns his head as much as he can, trying to look at Stan. He laughs, but it’s not the dry, mean one, that’s been the staple lately; it’s Stan’s happy laugh, his healthy laugh.

“You’ve had enough for one night.” Stan kisses the shell of Eddie’s ear. It makes Eddie’s heart skip a beat, but it isn’t what he wants. And unless there’s a flashlight pressing against Eddie’s ass, he isn’t the only one who wants more tonight.

“Do you remember that night, the last time we did this” Eddie rolls his ass back into Stan. “And you wanted more, but we all thought you were done. I gave you more. Stan, I listened to you and gave you more. I need you to do the same for me.”

Stan is silent for a minute, as if debating whether Eddie is making a good point or not. Knowing Stan, he probably is. 

Eddie almost gives up hope that anything is going to happen, he resigns himself to the fact that Stan has marked more cons than pros on his list, when he feels Stan push his hips a little to the side.

Eddie grins, and lifts his leg just enough to give Stan easy access.

When Stan fucks Eddie, it’s unlike anything else. He doesn’t fuck Eddie to come, or for Eddie to come. Tonight, Stan fucks Eddie to say all of the things he wishes he had over the last seven weeks.

He fucks Eddie full of ‘I love you’s.

And ‘I’m sorry’s.

And ‘Thank you’s.

He fucks Eddie so good, Eddie finally _truly_ gets the meaning behind the phrase ‘making love’.

Eddie cries again, he won’t pretend he doesn’t.

He doesn’t get hard again, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to.

Stan fucks Eddie, and Eddie thinks of how much he loves him. How much he’s always loved him, from back when they were kids wearing shower caps to protect them from spiders and pretending they were less afraid of the world than they really were to now.

When Stan comes, he holds Eddie closer to his chest, and says everything out loud.

“I love you so much.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Eddie’s chest burns from the praise. His ass burns from getting fucked so thoroughly. His eyes burn from the tears.

His heart burns there, too.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve taken care of everyone these last few weeks. You think we haven’t noticed, but we have, we all have. You’ve been so good. You helped us all through it. You took care of us. It was all you.” Stan whispers, still inside of Eddie. “All you.” He repeats when a sob wracks through Eddie’s chest.

Eddie isn’t crying because he’s sad. He’s crying because he’s happy. So happy. So goddamn happy.

He cries as Stan continues to tell him how good he’s been, and how much he means to everyone.

He cries as the rest of them get into bed beside them.

He cries as they cover him and Stan with blankets and they all say “I love you” to each other like they haven’t been able to in months.

He cries until he doesn’t need to anymore, and Stan holds him through it all.

The first thing Eddie thinks about as he’s falling asleep is how much he loves these six losers, and how happy he is that fate, or God, or fucking luck brought them together.

The second is that no matter how wrong things get in the world, everything right is here with him right now.

The third is that their sheets are disgustingly dirty.

The fourth is that he doesn’t give a shit.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked plz give me kudos/comments !!!  
anyone up for more from this universe? stories of happier times? the first appearance of the double ended dildo? the losers first time together? hmmm? lemme know!


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